Prion Peon

“Right there,” Harley declared while pointing at a large
tree at the edge of the school grounds. “Under the big
pine, yours truly and Becky swapped spit yesterday.”

Bert eyed his friend dubiously. Harley was the epitome
of average. Nothing stood out. He imagined his friend
taking up a life of crime in some alternate reality where
a witness could only say: “He was of average height and
build, average looks and average grades. Just average,
Officer.”

Becky was... average too. But she’d gotten to the age
where average, for a girl, was pretty fantastic.

“Wet dreams don’t count,” Bert replied with feigned
disinterest. He turned his head to watch two female
students exiting the nearby school.

“True story, bro,” Harley insisted. Frustrated, and
Wondering how he could prove it to his friend, he shoved
his hands into his jean pockets and came upon the small
fold of bills given him earlier. Without much thought,
he blurted, “Fifty bucks says I did.”

Though Bert’s thoughts were focused the balloon like
attributes of his retreating classmates, Harley’s
statement dismissed his dreaming with a sudden pop.
The fifty bucks each student brought for the field
trip?

Becky, huh? If true, he imagined his friend sucking
face at the back of the bus with his new girl while
everyone else ogled jealously, including himself.

Couldn’t let that happen. No sir.

“Let me get this straight,” Bert said as he turned
around, one hand going to a hip and the other pointing
toward the hiding spot comprised of thick low lying
branches. “Made out. Under a pine tree behind the
school. Fifty bucks.”

Harley dry swallowed, suddenly nervous. He shouldn’t be,
the encounter had happened, yet Bert had taken the tone
he always did when he was sure of a bet. Harley shook the
feeling off. Dude was about to be light in the wallet,
friend or no. “Fifty bucks.”

“Pay up chump,” Bert crowed as he clapped his hands
together, rubbing them eagerly. “That’s a fir tree.
In fact they’re all firs. Not a pine in site.”

“What!” Harley yelped horrified. “I can’t tell them
apart.”

Bert’s mouth dropped open in mock shock. “Hey, watch
the arboreal profiling, douche-bag.”


***


Harley leaned on the bleached wood fence that
made up the sheep pen, and stared blankly at the
distant horizon. The first rays of dawn shot across
the unkempt soccer field, setting the dew to glitter
as diamonds, or perhaps stars.

It should have been beautiful, would have been
save for the gnashing animal inside the mostly collapsed
enclosure. Originally intended for learning about animal
husbandry, now it lay in near ruins.

The sheep limped in an irregular circle, a low,
guttural, non sheep noise escaped it’s mouth, which
jolted Harley out of his fugue. His eyes drifted to
the creature as he considered it’s condition.

Livestock madness. First named mad cow disease
but as the infection quickly spread to other animals
that moniker was soon rendered moot.

The afflicted beast stumbled into an upright
section of fence, slid it’s head along it, revealing
a coded tattoo on one ear. A bar code.

Mankind had tried, but finally agreed to a final
solution: the great culling. Millions of animals put
down with a small number marked for further study.

Harley scratched at his own ear, then let his
forehead settle to the rough wood, a soft groan escaping
his lips. Memories careened around his mind; rush hour
traffic snarled by malfunctioning signal lights.

Terrible, mind numbing events had followed. Too much
for one teen to comprehend, or even keep straight.


***


Nestled under the thick low laying bows of the fir,
Harley concentrated, shutting the world out with
pinched eyelids and finger tip filled ears.

The scent of the tree’s needles, living and dead,
were nearly overwhelming. But, if he tried really
hard, he thought he could still catch a whiff of
the girls perfume left from their dreamy encounter.

He would have stayed that way, hell or high water,
but for the sudden rumbling of the earth herself.
Almost imperceptible at first, but growing stronger.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes to the carnage
visible through the thick boughs.

Smouldering vehicles. Broken windows. Puddles
of blood. Bodies and body parts strewn about,
some ragged as though a wild animal had gotten
to them.

No rescue had come. No police. No parents. A single
newscast at lunch the only warning of impending doom.


***

His legs giving out, Harley crumpled to the ground,
oblivious to the filth left there by the near catatonic
sheep. Staring upward at a perfect blue sky marred
only by the smoking streaks left behind from scores
of meteor like objects.

Harley’s body spasmed.

Normal life had come to a screeching halt, becoming a
nightmare the very next instant.

The newscast. He rolled over, uttering a short wail as
he tried to block out the memory emblazoned in his head.


***

“...and that’s the weather as I see it,” Bill the weatherman
declared in summation. “Anything else, David?”

Harley yawned as he picked at his lunch. This was the point
of the program where the Anchor and Co-Anchor reported on a
recent rumor, usually with a contained jocularity that was
rarely entertaining.

The lunchroom was nearly empty, only a dozen or so kids sat
in small groups, the rest of the students off preparing for
their field trips.

“Thank you, Bill,” David the news anchor said as the camera
panned back to him. “One of our correspondents has called
in with a second hand report of, um, zombies.”

“Zombies, huh?” Bill replied with a laugh. “Sounds like a
grave situation indeed.” Then, switching to mock concern:
“Is it silver bullets that kill zombies? I can never keep
up with that stuff.”

David, playing dumb, shrugged then turned to his co-host,
Kate. “Perhaps this is related to Livestock Madness? What
do you think the chances are of us being overrun by zombies,
Prion Peons, Sapien Encephalates, Kate?”

That had to be a prepared line, Harley thought, but the topic
was at least interesting. He glanced around, but no one else
was paying attention, except maybe the lunch lady standing
slack jawed behind the counter, a dumbfounded look dominating
her face.

“Kate?”

Harley looked back at the television in time to see the news
woman similarly slack jawed, and eyes wide as saucers, unblinking.

“Okay,” David the Anchor said with mild concern. “Someone
looks like she has an irrational fear of fictional monsters.
Come back for our broadcast at six where we report on...”

An unearthly howl erupted from the tiny speaker as Kate flew
through the air from off screen and bowled David over, the two
of them disappearing behind the large logo emblazoned desk.

Holy crap, Harley thought as all eyes in the room locked
onto the television. As much as he like to be entertained,
the newsies were taking this a little too far.

Bill the Weatherman appeared on screen, reached down to break
up the apparent melee, but stopped stunned as a spray of
blood hit him in the face. As he wiped at his eyes, an arm
came up and pulled him down by the back of the head with such
force that an audible crack could be heard.

The screen switched to a drawing of a technician puzzling over
a studio camera and the message - We are experiencing technical
difficulties. Please stand by.

Before Harley or anyone else could digest what had just
occurred, another shriek split the air. The heavy set
lunch lady swung a large metal ladle at a students head,
the crushing blow removing the top of his skull along with
bits of brain matter.

Then the screaming began in earnest.


***

Another rumble, stronger, and with it the sound of
something collapsing. A building perhaps. Harley’s
hands clenched, each grabbing a handful of dirt and
dried needles. Stay or flee? Stay or flee?


***


Flee.

He was still undecided, though the combination of
destructive noises was definitely getting nearer.
It could only be a horde of blood crazed infected,
obsessively searching for the last tender morsels
such as himself.

Then from the direction of the ominous sounds, a
figure, ragged and panicked plowed past his hiding
spot, appearing to be headed for the small maintenance
shack on one side of the school.

Another heavy vibration, joined by the sound of trees
being snapped like match sticks. Time to go.


***

Harley burst from under the tree, sprinted as he
never knew he was capable, nearly caught up with
the stranger who beat him into the small building
by plowing headlong through the door. Stumbling
to a stop, Harley took a split second to secure
the door then collapsed on the floor, gasping.

“What,” Harley stammered between breaths. “What is
that sound? A horde? Of zom...”

The other spun around with a growl, it’s big round
eyes and feralness making Harley blanch in fear.
Before he could move the monster pounced, grabbing
him by the throat and pushing him up against the
wall covered with tools.

A strange detachment took over - he could feel himself
flailing and gagging, but all he could think was how
stupid it was to die in a room full of potential zombie
killing weapons.

***

Harley took a deep breath. By the scratches on his arms
it looked like he’d been mindlessly thrashing away in the
only upright corner of the wooden enclosure.

The light. He remembered the hand around his throat, it’s
iron grip. Then, a bright light. Blinding. And the
monster’s expression suddenly changing to fear. The whole
side of the shed had exploded inward before Harley slipped
into unconsciousness.

One thing, more than anything, was pissing him off. He
staggered from the pen with the gait of a drunkard, milled
around in a circle until he spotted his quarry - the
smoking carcass of a car, one of it’s doors left wide open.

It was a straight shot of sixty or so feet, but for some
reason it felt like a damn maze. After numerous twists
and turns, Harley finally reached the car door, cracked his
head against the window as it swung shut under his weight.

No matter.

He slid his face down the glass with a comical squelch and
peered into the little side mirror, turning his head to
one side.

The maddening itch on his ear, a bar code. Similar to the
sheep's, yet different. Alien. He scratched at it, then
slid down the car to a sitting position in the dirt.

Every now and then, one of the fireballs overhead would
pause and shoot a beam of energy down, disintegrating
what lay below with a deep rumble, then move on.

For a moment the pieces all fit together again. They’d
culled the infected animals, but when humans also fell
victim to it, someone showed up to cull them.

He shivered. The alien things had taken him from the shed
and done terrible things to his body. Excruciating things.

***

Be damned if Bert wasn’t right. Harley’s biology teacher
had confirmed it. It was a fir tree after all.



end